Call of Derpy
by kotobaka
Summary: Dave shows John the way of CoD, but the situation quickly flips to teaching him about something else.


Hello, hello! This was written for another Tumblr prompt for "John is an awkward kisser". I somehow got the idea of them playing Call of Duty while turning this prompt over in my head and this happened. Enjoy!

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><p><span>Call of Derpy<span>

The guy really did try his best, Dave thought. Ah well, couldn't be the best at everything. Dave watched as John flipped over another balcony and got hit by a tank for about the fortieth time—not one of his more elegant deaths, if there had been anything to be called elegant in the past two hours of trying to teach him the ways of Call of Duty. Dave was a beast at this shit, obviously; Bro had basically made it a requirement that he be a master at it as soon as it hit stores. John, not so much.

Dave cast a sidelong glance at him through his shades as he set up another game. "Here you go," he said as the loading screen glowed on the TV, "Try not to get totally schooled this time."

"Ha, I'll try!" John said with one of his dopey smiles. Dave grinned back and they turned their attention back to the screen as the game began. John ran on ahead again, shooting at random.

"Don't forget to check for ammo," Dave said as he hid behind a wall and sniped at enemies before they could get to his team. Man, this guy needed some coordination. "I thought you played video games, Egbert."

"Not really… I mean sometimes my dad and I play Mario! I'm pretty good at that!" he said, sending his player over another ledge—Dave couldn't explain how he survived that one. Maybe the game was just starting to feel sorry for him.

They reached the mansion where Castro was hiding, this time with both John and Dave fully equipped and in good health. Dave tried to go in first, but John charged past him and burst through the rooms, shooting anything and missing everything but the walls. Dave cursed under his breath and followed him, taking precision shots whenever he could and taking out guards. Of course they both died in a matter of seconds.

Dave threw down his controller and took a deep breath. He adjusted his shades and tried his best not to show his exasperation. He loved the guy, but John really didn't know the first thing about two-player mode: listen to the fucking plan.

John sat with the controller balanced on his knee, awkwardly fidgeting about on the carpet. "Sorry," he said, not even punctuating his speech with one of his smiles that Dave would never admit to thinking was adorable.

"Yeah, man… just pay attention next time," Dave said evenly, trying his hardest not to let his irritation show, "I'll lead the way, just follow what I do."

"Gotcha!" John said, his expression glowing again but voice still not sounding convinced. Dave narrowed his eyes at the loading screen as the game restarted—they were going to win this time, so help him gog.

The mission began, and just as Dave had ordered, John stayed back as Dave ran ahead to take care of any enemies. "Okay, now you go," he said. John did as he was told, staring intently at the screen, biting his lower lip in concentration with the cutest overbite. Dave glared harder at the screen. Coolkids didn't get distracted with shit like that.

They reached the mansion. "Hide back there in the dining room," he said, "I'll go around the other way." John bobbed his head up and down in understanding and they moved as fast as they could.

Dave ducked behind a table and was quickly taking out targets when John bit his lip again and said, "U-Uh… Dave?"

"Just shoot at them, they're close enough to get in one hit."

"But they're really close! Oh god oh god—!" He was starting on another random shootout, and miraculously he wasn't even hitting the guys across the tiny room from him.

Dave sighed, picked off his last target, and put down his controller. He motioned to John without taking his eyes of the screen. "Give me that."

John slumped over in defeat and handed over the controller. Dave silently worked his way through the rest of the rooms, leaving his player in the dust—could he do that? Fuck yes he could do that, he was Dave Strider for gog sake. John leaned over and rested against him and watched the game. It would've bothered any other intense gamer, but Dave didn't mind. In fact, he dared to admit to himself that he liked the feeling of someone just leaning against him without a care in the world. It relaxed him, too, actually; John tended to have that effect on people.

He finally reached Castro, a short cutscene played and he escaped—Dave knew this, though, he'd played this shit a dozen times before, obviously—but John suddenly sat up and yelled, "Get him, Dave! Go on, you can do it!"

Dave just nodded and continued playing the usual, going the escape route and getting to the plane to make the getaway. John stared at the TV with wide eyes, cheering him on and jumping up and down in his seat. Dave couldn't help but smile a tiny bit at his enthusiasm; it really was cute.

He jumped off the plane to help the team get away, capturing a tank and shooting down any platoons trying to take down the plane. "No, no! Why'd you jump back down? You gotta escape!" John was yelling at the TV, "Oh man they're gonna leave without you—no! Dave, they took off! What about you, I mean you're super good at this but—ah! No, you got captured!"

"I didn't notice."

"B-but you're still really good at this! Wow, I didn't even get through the beginning of it, and you did the whole thing on your own!"

"Bro taught me. I mean seriously, he dragged me though marathons of this shit. I've got this thing down to an art."

"It's still so unfair that you just had to lose, though," John frowned, flopping back and cuddling up against him, "I mean, you did everything right and still got captured!"

Dave set down the controller and sat back against the couch, a smug grin on his face. "That's what you're supposed to do, man," he said, "It's part of the story. Got to be the hero and every—"

He couldn't quite finish his thought before John suddenly pressed his lips to his. Dave froze up for a moment, but it was cool. He could work with this. He wrapped his hands around John's waist and tried to kiss him back when John more or less shoved his face into his, scratching their glasses together and making their teeth click. Dave pulled away and readjusted his glasses. "The hell, dude, that's not how you kiss," he said, sitting back against the couch and staring at the TV.

John froze up and looked down at the floor, his face beet red. "S-Sorry, Dave," was all he could manage to squeak out.

Dave sighed and looked up at the ceiling, then back over at John. He'd never really thought of John being into that, but he, for one, was down. "Shit, is that how they kiss in those crappy movies you watch or something? 'cause if that's the case I don't even want to know what other fucked ideas you have thanks to Nic Cage."

"Hey, Nic Cage is the best," John said quietly, still looking down at his socks.

"Never said he wasn't," Dave said, slinging an arm around his neck, "Just saying he's not where to look for stuff like that."

John looked up at him now, his smile back again. "Oops. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Dave said, grinning as he perched his shades on top of his head and out of the way. Coolkids knew how to weasel their way out of any awkward situation, and Dave Strider was no different. He leaned in and slipped a hand behind John's neck, lingering just a breath away for a moment with a smirk on his face before kissing him.

John sat there for a second, unsure of what to do. Dave was about to pull away when John flung his arms around his neck like he was some big cuddly teddy bear or some shit and kissed him back. Dave wasn't even sure how someone could kiss while still having such a derpy smile on his face, but John could pull it off. There wasn't even any awkward teeth clicking this time, even with John's enormous buck teeth getting dangerously close to Dave's own teeth from time to time. Oh well, the guy was still alright. It wasn't like he'd wanted to do this for ages or anything corny like that. The kiss ended but their foreheads still touched, John grinning like an idiot and saying, "That okay, Dave?"

"Sure thing," Dave said, putting his shades back on and the pokerface that went with it. He wasn't going to grin or laugh—being a derp was John's job. His job was to be the coolkid, always the coolkid. "Come on, let's see what Castro's got in store for us."


End file.
